It was quite a feeling, walking those last few yards to hand in my final assignments. The young woman on the desk at Examination Schools was very understanding of my neurotic obsessing over labels and candidate numbers. My glasses seemed to have stopped working – or perhaps it was my eyes. The numbers were jumping all over the place. But finally it was done, and I was walking out clutching my little yellow receipt.
I had expected to feel elation but instead I felt something more sober. This was it. The life of a writer (albeit one combined with a full time job) now looms without the support and structures of a creative writing masters.
Pretty good though, I mused over my celebration ice cream (too early for a drink – that would be later). Just a brief moment to celebrate before plunging back into the juggling of commitments, the endless squirreling away of little packages of time to write, the constant uncertainties. Sun setting over the old colleges. A good friend to buy me ice cream. Work handed in. Pretty good.